


and as I recall you used to be mine

by likebrightness



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebrightness/pseuds/likebrightness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trish comes home from rehab and tells Jess she loves her. Jess, as Trish expected, kind of panics. Her fingers twitch and she glances around like she’s looking for an exit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A late birthday present to Megan and Zabe. :*

_and as I recall you used to be mine,_  
_and not some property of his_

 _-_ Joe Purdy, "Ah-La Song"

  

 

Trish comes home from rehab and tells Jess she loves her. Jess, as Trish expected, kind of panics. Her fingers twitch and she glances around like she’s looking for an exit.

“I don’t expect you to say it back,” Trish says.

She doesn’t. Because Jess doesn’t say it, about anything. Trish isn’t sure she’s heard Jess ever use the word—not to describe how she feels about pizza or whiskey, and certainly not to describe how she feels about a person. But at rehab they were told to tell the people they loved that they loved them. So, here she is.

“It’s just a thing I was supposed to do,” she explains. “Part of my getting better. And now I did, and it’s done, and we don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

That’s not exactly how the conversation was supposed to go, but Jess looks nervous as hell and Trish is trying to be normal. She just got back from rehab, and she barely knows how to function without something in her system, but she just wants a normal night with her best friend. Who she loves, yes, and who loves her, too, even if she never says it out loud. Trish knows anyway, because Jess serves Trish more than half of the orange chicken when their takeout arrives. Trish knows because her bed has freshly washed sheets on it. She knows because when she gets up to go for a run in the morning, Jess wakes up enough to stumble into the living room.

“Breakfast when you get back?” she asks, eyes bleary and her hair absolutely _everywhere_.

Trish grins. “If you’re conscious enough.”

When Trish gets back, she showers and starts cooking waffles before Jess even stirs from where she’s passed out on the couch.

-

Jess freakin’ _disappears_ on her. It’s not like Jessica’s the most reliable person in the world, so it’s not that weird when she doesn’t come home one night, even if they were supposed to watch Grey’s Anatomy together. Jess doesn’t like the show anyway—which is half the fun, really, but not the point. The point is that when Jess misses dinner and Thursday night TV, it’s not that strange. She’s not there in the morning, either, but that makes sense, and Trish has to go to work.

But Jess doesn’t text. Doesn’t respond to texts. Doesn’t come home Friday either.

She finally texts back on Saturday.

 **Jessica [Today 1:24 pm]**  
Yes, I’m alive. Quit worrying.

Trish isn’t _worried_ , exactly. It’s just that it’s the longest they’ve been apart since Jess woke up in the hospital.

On Monday, while Trish is at work, Jess texts that she came by and grabbed some clothes and stuff.

 **Trish [10:58 am]**  
Grabbed clothes? To take where??

Now Trish is worried.

She calls, and Jess doesn’t pick up.

 **Jessica [11:04 am]**  
Could you let me do my own thing for a second? Do I have to get everything approved by you?

Trish stares at her phone. She never...it’s something she once said to her mother. Verbatim, she’s pretty sure. Jess lashes out sometimes when she’s upset or Trish is being annoying, but this is...she makes Trish feel like _her mother_ , which is _worse_ that how abandoned she’s made Trish feel the past few days.

Trish doesn’t text her again.

-

Jess calls on Friday, acts like nothing happened, like she hasn’t been away from Trish more in the past week than in the previous decade. She talks about someone named Kilgrave and Trish doesn’t know what to think. Jessica abandoned her for a _guy_? Jess has had her fair share of flings, but nothing serious. Nothing serious enough for her to not come home in a week.

“What’s going on, Jess?”

“Nothing’s _going on_ , Trish,” Jess sounds _carefree_ , which is not a word Trish would ever use to describe her.

Trish goes looking for her.

She goes to her favorite coffee shop and her favorite bar. She walks everywhere, hoping in this city of millions she might somehow run into Jess. She doesn’t. Two weeks go by where Trish doesn’t see or hear from her.

Trish is definitely worried.

And then one day, there she is, outside the window of the cafe where Trish is waiting in line. She has her arm looped through the arm of some guy in a purple suit, and she’s wearing a long white coat that, if Trish wasn’t looking at Jessica wearing it at this very moment, Trish would think Jess wouldn’t be caught dead in. She and the man are talking, and Jess is absolutely beaming, this big, bright smile that looks so _happy_ , except that Trish isn’t sure she’s ever seen Jess smile like that before.

The barista calls _next!_ , but Trish only glances at him before heading for the door, never mind that she just waited fifteen minutes in line for her first cup of coffee of the day and now isn’t going to get it. She chases after Jess.

But they’re gone. Jess and the man both. An ankle-length white coat and a purple suit, and they somehow blend in with everyone else, because Trish literally _runs_ down the street, and cannot find them.

She curses, under her breath, a quiet _goddammit_ , nothing like the way Jess liked to shout _fuck_ at every minor inconvenience.

It’s not going to be a very good show today, she thinks, and heads to work.

-

She calls Jess that night, again. She’s lost track of the number of times she’s called her. What’s different this time, is that Jess picks up.

“Look, Trish, I don’t know why you keep calling.”

“Hello to you, too,” Trish says.

She can almost hear the way Jess rolls her eyes.

“How are you doing?” Trish asks.

“Good.”

Trish knows Jess doesn’t do well with emotions, with working things out. Every fight they’ve ever had has just fizzled out rather than been resolved. Trish doesn’t mind. That’s what they do, and it works for them. But it’s not working for her right now. She doesn’t know how to deal with Jess right now. She just wants her friend back.

“I think I saw you today,” she says. “You looked good.”

“I am good,” Jess snaps. “Have you not figured out that I’m happy without you?”

Trish swallows. She keeps her voice quiet, tries not to sound accusatory. “Jess, what are you doing?”

Jess is being a bitch, but Trish _misses_ her, and doesn’t understand what’s happening, and just wants her to come home. She’ll forgive the whole thing if she just acts like her friend again.

“I love him,” Jess says, with such sincerity Trish almost drops her phone.

“You _what_?”

“I love him.”

It is so simple. So final. Trish can taste bile at the back of her throat.

“Sell my stuff on eBay if you feel like it,” Jess says. “Don’t wait up.”

She hangs up the phone.

Trish actually collapses, right there onto the kitchen floor. There are tears on her cheeks before she puts together her first coherent thought, which is:

_What the fuck?_

She knows she’s beginning to hyperventilate, she can tell, and she knows what this is before it fully sets in, but she can’t stop it, she can’t move, she can’t run, she can’t scream, she can barely breathe. It feels like the ground is falling out from under her. She wraps her arms tight around her knees and rocks back and forth like it will help but it _doesn’t_ , and the last time she had a panic attack, _Jessica_ was the one next to her, who pulled her into a taxi away from everyone, told the driver to _turn off the radio and shut the fuck up!_ , and held her hand until she came back to herself. But Jess isn’t here now, isn’t _ever_ going to be here, _ever again_ , that’s what she said, she said to _sell her stuff_. Trish is trying to take deep breaths but she is gasping, biting at the air. Her heart feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of her chest, and her ribcage is constricting to hold it in.

She hasn’t had a panic attack in a long time, but that’s all it is. She reminds herself, over and over, that it’s a panic attack and it will go away. It still feels like it’s hours before she can breathe again.

She’s supposed to focus on something else, she _knows_ she should, knows it’s the best way to calm down. But how can she not think of Jess?

Jess, who held a marble sink over her head. Who called her Trish right away, as soon as she asked, no matter what Dorothy said. Who used to jump rooftops with Trish on her back. Jess, who has been her hero since she barged into that bathroom. Who has never told she loved her but who _has_ , Trish swears she has, for years, she has to have, right? How can Trish not think of Jess?

She remembers looking at her in that hospital bed, wondering how alone she must feel. Trish thinks maybe she understands now.

-

Trish has never really liked celebrating her birthday. There was always some obnoxious special episode on the show and Trish was allowed one small piece of cake, a middle piece, not an edge, _not too much frosting, dear_. She ate it on camera, because look, of course Patsy eats cake on her birthday, why wouldn’t she? She’s not _anorexic_ , why would you think that? Memories of her later birthdays are a haze of drugs and alcohol and eating too much like it will make up for her childhood.

This year is the worst, though.

Jess has been gone three weeks. Jess has been gone three weeks, and Trish still orders too much takeout. Still almost shouts, _I’m home_ , when she gets inside their apartment. Her apartment. It’s not theirs anymore.

There’s a cupcake on her desk when she goes into work, and Zack smiles at her and says nothing. She told him she didn’t want a big production, and he’s a good kid.

All Trish wants all day is for Jess to make a joke about aging out of her good looks, then awkwardly apologize for it when she realizes it hits too close to Trish’s insecurities. All she wants is for Jess to not even attempt a homemade cake, because the one time she did when Trish turned 20 was enough to convince her just to buy something.

After work Trish goes home and pours Jessica’s whiskey down the sink. She stands in the doorway and stares into Jess’s room. She’s been in there once since Jess left, to clean up dirty dishes before they grew mold. It doesn’t look like Jess ever actually came by and picked anything up like she said she had. Clothes are all over the floor, the one picture Jess ever got framed—of her and Trish the first night in their first apartment—on the bedside table. The room still looks so lived in.

Trish spends the rest of the night cleaning it, making it look like a proper guest room.

-

A month later, Jess shows up at her door with a fur coat, dried blood caked over her knuckles, and a blank look on her face.

Trish wants to ask if she’s okay, but she tries to hold onto her anger. “Long time no see,” she says.

Jess finally looks at her, finally makes eye contact, and Trish can see the exact moment that whatever was holding her up snaps. Jess’s face breaks and she careens into the doorframe. Trish manages to catch her, keep her on her feet when it’s clear she’d rather be crumpled on the floor.

“Whoa, whoa, I got you,” Trish says, her hands under Jess’s armpits. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

They make it to the couch. Jess is crying in earnest, now, something Trish has never, ever seen, not even at her family’s funeral. Tears are slipping down her cheeks faster than Trish can wipe them away.

“Jess,” Trish says, and it’s _horrible_ , seeing her like this, but Trish can’t describe how good it feels to say her name.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [prompt me](http://likebrightness.tumblr.com/ask). [support me](http://patreon.com/likebrightness).

Trish wishes she could be relieved. For the past three months she felt like her entire life was a lie, but it wasn’t; Jess cares about her, would never abandon her. That should make her feel better.

But she’d rather be abandoned, than have Jessica feel like this.

Jess can’t sleep through the night. She can’t spend an entire day alone. She thinks she’s a _murderer_.

Trish doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know how this Kilgrave works, but she believes. She tells Jess, over and over, that he _made_ her do things, that everything was _his_ fault.

“It’s not my fault.”

She makes Jess say it, hopes one day she’ll believe it.

Trish works from home whenever she can—does everything from home except the show itself, basically. She convinces Jess to see a therapist, takes her there and picks her up.  She talks to her and lets her be quiet and distracts her with bad television. She doesn’t think anything she’s doing helps.

-

After a nightmare, Trish sleeps in Jess’s bed exactly once. Jess flails in her sleep, wakes up reacting to whatever terrible image was in her mind, wakes up swinging. Trish is far enough away to not get the full force of the punch, but ends up with the worst bloody nose of her life.

The bloody nose helps Jess, actually. Grounds her in the here and now rather than in her nightmare. Trish doesn’t have to say _it’s okay_ or _I’m here_ or _Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Cobalt Lane_. She squeezes her nose with a finger and a thumb and rolls onto her back.

“Shit, Trish,” Jess says. “I’m sorry. Fuck!”

“It’s fine,” Trish says. “Can you get me a tissue?”

Jess scrambles out of bed and returns with a box of Kleenex.

After that, Jess won’t let Trish in the bed with her.

Trish buys a cot. They say goodnight and Trish lies in her own bed until she thinks Jess is asleep, then tiptoes into her room and sets the cot up next to her bed, just out of reach. She’s only a few seconds closer, but it feels like everything when Jess wakes up screaming.

-

It’s been almost six months and Jessica still has nightmares, drinks too much, doesn’t cope with her feelings. Trish still sleeps on the cot next to her bed. On good nights, Trish wakes up well before Jess and runs on the treadmill, just down the hallway, no music playing, within earshot. But there are still bad nights.

Jess shouts in her sleep and Trish jerks awake. She reaches for the light on the bedside table, clicking it on and swinging her legs over the edge of the cot.

Jess isn’t thrashing, which is a bad sign. The worst nightmares she believes so thoroughly that she’s under Kilgrave’s control that she can’t move, even unconsciously.

Trish says her name, louder and louder. Jess gasps and opens her eyes, but doesn’t move.

“Jess, it’s okay,” Trish says. “You’re awake. You’re not under Kilgrave’s control.”

Jess does not move.

“Jess,” Trish says. “Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane.”

She repeats it. Jess stares at the ceiling. Trish says it again.

Trish tries everything. She does the alphabet backward. She breathes in for four, holds one, out four, tries to get Jess to breathe with her. Jess stays taut.

“Can you tell me where you are?” Trish asks.

Her fingers clench into fists at the edge of the cot. She knows better than to try to touch Jess, knows better than to sound panicked. She is _so_ scared for Jess, but she puts on her radio voice and talks slowly.

“Your name is Jessica Jones. You are safe. You are in your bed, under sheets and a blanket. The blanket is purple. You are in your room in our apartment. The walls are beige. You are a good person. Your favorite color is black and I tease you because it’s not a color. I am Trish. I am here, on the cot I sleep on next to your bed. I love you.”

Jess blinks hard. She still doesn’t move.

“I love you,” Trish says. It’s the most grounding thing she can think of right now. She’s done everything else that usually helps and it hasn’t and this is all she can think of. The most true and most real thing she can think of. “I love you. You are Jessica Jones and I am Trish Walker and I love you. You are safe. I love you.”

Tears are threatening, something hard in her throat, but Trish swallows it down.

“Jess, _please_ ,” she says. “I love you.”

Jess lets out a long slow breath, and Trish picks it up, slow, calm, deep breaths. Jess lifts a hand and presses it to her face and Trish loses the rhythm of breathing because she practically sobs in relief.

“Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane,” Jess says.

-

A few days later, Trish comes home from work and yells hello, and Jess doesn’t respond. Trish thinks maybe she’s out for a walk. She does that sometimes, hands in the pockets of her jacket and scowl on her face so no one will talk to her. Trish thinks it’s good for her, gets her some fresh air, exercise, some kind of human contact whether she likes it or not. Jess has had a rough time since the bad nightmare; she’s been more standoffish than usual. Trish herself was emotionally exhausted after that night, so she doesn’t begrudge Jess’s withdrawal. She’s glad Jess is out when she gets home, though; it means she’s doing better.

There’s a note on the kitchen counter.

_I’m okay but I’m not coming back. I’m sorry._

Trish is in the same spot she was the first time Jess told her she wasn’t coming back, the exact same spot in the kitchen. She doesn’t crumble this time, just clenches her teeth and swallows hard. She bows her head, and cries.

-

Jess is easier to find this time, though Trish gives her her space. She expects her to come back. She expects a few weeks, a month, and she’ll come back. Jess gets an apartment and a job—a job that makes Trish smile because she knows how good Jess will be at it—and Trish thinks she must be doing okay. She thinks she will come back.

After three months, she stops expecting.

It’s somehow worse than last time. Last time, when she thought her entire life had been a lie, it wasn’t as bad as knowing Jess is spending each day alone, knowing she doesn’t have anyone to listen to the sarcastic comments she mutters under her breath or make her laugh. It’s worse knowing Jess is out there, and knowing she could help her, and knowing that’s something Jess has to figure out herself. God, she _loves_ her, and not being there for her while she’s in pain is worse than thinking she doesn’t love her back.

-

Trish was twelve the first time she had a stalker. It hasn’t become any easier.

She’s exhausted, lately, hasn’t been sleeping well, in her bed or on the cot or anywhere. It’s starting to get dark earlier, dusk settling in on her walk home from work. She walks most everywhere, holding out hope of running into Jess.

She doesn’t notice she’s being followed.

She gets to her building, waits for the elevator, and watches someone punch her doorman in the face. The fear jumps into her throat. She slams her finger into the elevator button, and the man who hit her doorman enters the building. Trish runs for the stairs, trying to get her phone out of her purse to call the cops. The guy’s on her before she can unlock her phone.

“Patsy,” he says, with a maniacal smile and a vice grip on her arm. “I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

Trish can’t get away, he’s too strong, and she thinks about Jessica, thinks how no one would have the chance to touch her if Jess were here, and then her doorman, busted lip and bloody nose, tries to pull the man off of her. He doesn’t let go of Trish, though, and she gets pulled with him.

All in all, it’s maybe two minutes of struggle before the stalker is subdued.

Trish meets with a contractor the next day. She upgrades her doors and windows, puts in a panic room, and hires a doorman for the entire building from a private security firm. She researches martial arts, and finds a Krav Maga instructor. She thinks of Jess, strong enough to protect Trish but not enough to take care of herself. She turns her room into a gym.

-

The first moment she sees someone climbing over her balcony railing, Trish goes rigid. When she sees that it’s _Jess_ , the only reason she doesn’t panic is because her Krav Maga instructor has been working with her on staying calm.

Trish separates the problem into pieces, deals with the most pressing issue first. Zack gets Nicole to leave quickly, and Trish takes a moment to grab a scarf and try to collect her thoughts before heading to the balcony.

Trish is mad at Jess. Trish has been mad at Jess for months, because it’s easier than missing her. She’s mad at her for leaving and for pushing her out and for not trying hard enough. Trish isn’t certain about much in life, but if there’s one thing she knows, it’s that Jess can do _anything_ if she puts her mind to it. Jess can jump buildings, Jess can lift cars, Jess can escape a man who can make people do anything he wants. So while most of the time, Trish recognizes the effects of trauma and understands, sometimes she lets herself be _furious_ at Jess for not trying hard enough to get better.

That’s why she tells Jessica to stay, to help this girl. Because Jess can do _anything_ , and it doesn’t seem like there’s anything more important than this.

Jess says she was never the hero Trish wanted her to be, and Trish has to turn away so Jess won’t see her cry.

-

When she hears about the shooting in Jess’s building, Trish decides she’s not letting Jess push her out without a fight this time. She finds her and she refuses to not have feelings and she refuses to steer clear of her. Later, Jess calls about the font on the door and Trish’s heart feels feather light.

Kilgrave is still out there and Hope Schlottman is still behind bars and Jess is still traumatized, but this one thing, at least, feels good.

-

Trish fucks Simpson because it makes her feel strong. Kilgrave tried to kill her but she beat him. She took the thing he sent to kill her and she made it something good, made herself feel good.

Jess scowls about it and that only makes the situation better, really. Trish feels like she’s got her best friend back. She doesn’t have much time to process it, though, too focused on Kilgrave, on surviving, on keeping Jessica from getting herself killed or locked up or Kilgrave’d. Everything is a _mess_ , and Trish spends most of her time terrified, but she can’t help but think it’s better than living without Jess.

-

If it meant saving Jess’s life, taking the red pill was worth it. She thinks it even as she’s on the floor, unable to gasp for breath. When Trish wakes up in the ambulance, Jess says _goddamn you_ and Trish thinks _I love you, too._

-

Trish isn’t expecting it.

The last words Jess says before she gets out of the car, potentially the last words she says to Trish before she dies, or before she’s under Kilgrave’s control again. Trish does not expect it.

If she had given the possibility any thought, she could have guessed this is how Jess would do it—fleeing, never giving Trish a chance to respond, at the worst possible time. Trish doesn’t have time to deal with how her heart thunders behind her sternum. She waits and she paces and when her phone buzzes, all she wants in the entire world is for Jess to tell her she loves her.

-

Being controlled by Kilgrave is like falling in slow motion. Trish can see what’s happening, and she doesn’t want it to, but she can’t make her body stop. Once she’s completed his commands, she feels lost, woozy. She’s _there_ , she knows she is, but she’s not. Her mind isn’t fully connected to her body. She can’t run at him, can’t make him _shut up_ and stop talking to Jess.

She wants to cry. The idea that he has control of Jess again—the thought of him making Trish slit her own throat isn’t as bad as what she knows he’ll do to Jess.

Trish watches Jess smile for him. It’s a smile she recognizes, a smile she saw through the windows of a coffee shop when she thought Jess had abandoned her. It’s Jess’s Kilgrave smile, and it breaks Trish’s heart.

And then Jess looks over his shoulder, looks right at her, and says, “I love you.”

It doesn’t make sense, Kilgrave wouldn’t have told her to say—and then Trish gets it. She feels like she took a red pill: invigorated but unable to breathe.

And then it’s over.

-

Trish takes Jess to her apartment, not Jess’s. She wants it to be their apartment again. She doesn’t know how to tell Jess that. Doesn’t know how to tell Jess anything real, right now. Jess has enough on her mind and Trish doesn’t want to make it worse.

Instead she gets Jess set up on the couch with a whiskey and orders take out. They watch Grey’s Anatomy on the DVR and Trish points out every ridiculous moment. Jess doesn’t smile, but she does scoff and say _is there no where else to have sex in Seattle?_ when people start going at it in the on-call room. Trish feels like that’s better than a smile.

Trish gives Jess more than half of the orange chicken when their food arrives, plus the extra fortune cookie—since they ordered enough that the restaurant thought they were feeding three.

When they’ve finished their food and watched the last DVR’d episode and should be getting ready for bed, Trish can’t stop herself from saying the thing that’s been in the back of her mind all night.

She takes a deep breath. Lets it all out at once as she says, “It can’t be like last time, Jess.”

Jess looks at her, looks away.

“I’m serious,” Trish says. “You can’t leave me. You can’t cut me out.”

Jess’s hands fidget in her lap.

Trish doesn’t want to push. Trish knows pushing is a surefire way to _make_ Jess run, but Trish still has the ribbons of anxiety in her, the ache of loneliness from the past six months. She knows Jess is in a crazy place right now; she doesn’t want to put any demands on her, but she isn’t sure she can handle being left again.

“Please,” Trish says. “Just try to stay.”

Jess nods, once, sharp and fast. “Time for bed?” she says, and Trish lets her change the subject.

“Why don’t you take the bed?” Trish says. “It’s got clean sheets. I can sleep on the cot.”

“I’m not taking your bed, Trish.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “You’ve always been jealous of my bed, and I’m used to sleeping on the cot—I know I can sleep fine on it.”

Jess rolls her eyes. “You think the mattress I’ve been sleeping on is so good I’ll be thrown by the huge discrepancy in quality if I sleep on the cot?”

She has a point. Trish doesn’t think her place is a _dump_ , just that she could do better. But when she thinks of Jess’s mattress, all she can think about is Ruben’s blood soaking into it.

“Just take the bed, so I feel like a good person.”

Jess scoffs. “Since everything else you’ve done so far makes you seem horrible?”

Trish figures that’s as close to a thank you as she’ll ever get.

She sets up the cot in her bedroom and doesn’t give Jess trouble for climbing into her bed without brushing her teeth. They lie next to each other for the first time in months. Trish lets her hand hang off the side of the cot, as though there’s any chance Jess might reach for it. She wants to tell her she loves her, she misses her, she wants her to move back in. She wants to tell her she’s proud of her. That she knew she could do it.

Kilgrave dead is huge, but until a few weeks ago, they already thought he was. It doesn’t mean Jess is going to stop blaming herself for Reva’s death. She just has more to blame on herself, now, even though she was the one who saved everyone, in the end. Trish knows things aren’t going to suddenly be easy. But it feels different, now, with Jess beside her. Jess who _loves_ her, who _said_ she loves her. That feels like something to Trish.

Jess has been exactly the hero Trish wanted since she threw Dorothy into a wall. Jess has been everything Trish has wanted.

She waits until Jess’s breathing has gone steady, and whispers, “I love you,” into the dark.

-

Jess wakes up from a nightmare and gets through _Birch Street. Higgins Drive._ before she must remember Kilgrave there, in her childhood home, in her safe place. Her breath stutters.

“Jess,” Trish says, sitting up on the cot. “Look at me. Can you tell me where you are?”

“I’m in your bed,” Jess says, making eye contact. “In your apartment. You are Trish Walker and I am Jessica Jones and I love you.”

Trish bites her lip, gives nothing away. “And I love you,” she says.

Jess nods, and breathes a little easier.

 

 

 

 


End file.
